🍃 Face down. Hips raised. Back arched like a prayer.

When a Mossborn offers themselves to the grove, it is not performance.

It is ritual.

Knees nestled in moss.

Palms pressing gently into the living earth.

Face lowered in reverence.

Back curved like the crescent moon, hips lifted skyward, trembling with quiet anticipation.

It is not submission.

It is invocation.

In this pose, they call to every pollen-slick wind, every root listening beneath the soil.

They summon.

They receive.

They bloom.

🌸 The forest does not look away. Neither should you.

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